


New Skills

by apostapals (apostapal)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Gender-Neutral Hawke, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:17:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7963927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostapal/pseuds/apostapals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill. Anders tries to teach Hawke something new and Fenris does not like being left out; nor is leaving him out a good idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Skills

' _Mage-y time_ ' was what Hawke called it, wiggling their fingers at him like some caricature of a wilds witch. Fenris knew better than to question it by now. But it didn't stop him from getting slightly confused when said time took up a vast majority of the afternoon.

He only started to question it when the sounds of glass breaking filtered down from the top level of library.

“Are you two alright up there?”

“Fine!” Anders. “Just wonderful, Fenris, really!” Hawke. In near unison.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the stairs. “Do you need a broom?”

“Not necessary!” Anders again, followed by a much quieter, “Hawke no, Maker that's _broken glass_ put it down.”

Fenris sighed through his nose and tried to go back to his book. He'd spent far too much time around magic to actually want to meddle in whatever they were up to, he told himself. He trusted them with the matter well enough but the whole affair was a little too lacking transparency for him. Usually, Hawke jumped at the chance to talk about whatever strange trick they'd figured out.

He only made it through a page before another crash sounded, this one of multiple jars falling over and across the table. It was directly followed by cursing—Hawke—and then frantic attempts to pick everything back up.

_Mages_.

Unfortunately for both of them, Fenris had a natural talent for moving quietly before he took up any sort of combat work. Even the squeakiest stairs didn't offer him a challenge as he moved up to where they were working. The final reward, taken in as he finally crested the top of the staircase, was well worth the effort, too.

“Now I don't know which one is which.” Anders grumbled, waving his hands hopelessly over the various containers on the table. “Hawke, did your father really teach you nothing about potion making?”

Hawke, back to Fenris, shrugged. “He was a bad cook so I always figured it translated over into him being bad at mixing, well, most things.” they replied, lifting one of the jars to their nose and sniffling it.

They reared back, holding the jar at arm's length and out to Anders, and coughed.

“That one's rashvine essence, Hawke, I knew that already.” Anders replied, sighing as he took the jar from them, “Didn't have to snort it for me. I know which are elfroot and embrium too, before you go sniffing more. It's just, ugh—“

He waved his hands over the jars again, somehow more hopeless than before, and finally pinpointed two different liquids. Fenris strained to see them—the similar reddish color lit up by the setting sun in the windows behind them.

“One is spindleweed, one is deathroot.” Anders explained, “One is good, one is no. They really don’t smell any differently either. And before you offer, _no_ , I am not letting you drink one to see what happens.”

“It's foolproof.” Hawke replied. Fenris could tell they were grinning; both by the way Anders narrowed his gaze at them and their tone. It took quite a bit to keep from laughing.

Anders returned to filing through the jars, muttering something to himself, and Hawke leaned their hip lightly against the table.

“I don't even know why you brought deathroot for potions lessons, Anders.”

“It can be used to help one sleep, in very small doses.” Anders replied, holding both questionable jars aloft, “But in larger doses it... does a lot worse. Meanwhile, it's nigh impossible to tell apart from a very useful and safe herb when it's... like this.”

Anders obviously didn’t have to learn the same way to tell things apart Fenris did. He couldn't read the labels before, nor did he have any advanced knowledge of potions making, but he knew to trust himself; one thing to avoid getting a nasty surprise from some magister looking for some cruel entertainment in the form of offering the slave a hallucinogenic poisoned treat.

“Here.”

He moved so quietly, so quickly, that neither mage noticed he was even there until he spoke. Thankfully, Fenris had his hand out to haphazardly catch the jars in Anders' hands when he yelped and nearly threw them down. Next to the elf, Hawke clutched at their chest and stared in abject horror for a moment before recovering.

“Fenris, Maker's balls don't _do that_!” they wheezed, leaning more heavily against the table and causing Anders to have to steady a few jars.

Fenris just chuckled to himself and, very carefully, sniffed at one of the jars. Sweet, too sweet. He held it out to Anders.

“This one is deathroot.”

“How—?”

“It smells sweeter, trust me.” Fenris explained, handing the bottle of spindleweed off to Hawke. They sniffed at it, as if they possibly knew what secrets it hid, and raised a brow at him.

“You know this because..?”

Fenris shrugged, eyes flicking over the other jars and the back to Hawke, and offered no answer. They offered a follow up question instead of pressing the issue.

“Can you do that with any of the others?”

“Oh,” Fenris shrugged again and turned on his heels towards the staircase, “I'm sure you two will be fine figuring out how to tell between blood lotus and embrium. Wouldn't want to interfere with ' _mage-y time_ '.”

He didn't get more than a few steps before Hawke stumbled after him. “Hey hey, wait! Doesn't have to be _mage_ time, does it Anders?” they blurted.

Fenris turned, faint grin in place, and watched Anders glance between the remaining herb jars a moment before sighing.

“Well,” he said, “I suppose you'll have to come up with a new name for it, then.”


End file.
